Members

Max

Bass

Max Vella wasn't supposed to be the bass player. He originally showed up with every intention of playing guitar, but then reality intervened in the form of Joe P. It quickly became apparent that asking Joe to stay on bass would be like buying a Ferrari to mow the lawn. Faced with the undeniable evidence that Joe was simply too good at guitar to remain relegated to four strings, Max made the noble sacrifice... or lost the argument, depending on who you ask. Having emigrated from rhythm guitar to bass, Max embraced the role with surprising enthusiasm. He now provides the low-end rumble that keeps the rest of the band from accidentally drifting into jazz. He also contributes backing vocals, questionable suggestions during rehearsals, and the occasional deadpan comment that somehow survives into band lore. When he's not on stage, Max disappears down entirely different rabbit holes. He's the operator of RadioPeng.net, an independent online radio station dedicated to overlooked artists, forgotten classics, and the wonderfully obscure corners of music history. If you've stumbled across a Japanese post-punk band from 1982, a lost Sicilian prog record, or an album nobody has thought about in thirty years, there's a fair chance Max has already written about it, played it on the air, or is trying to convince everyone else they should love it too.

Matt

Guitar

Matt is the band's other guitar player, and quite possibly the shyest human ever to stand in front of a 2,000-watt amplifier. He communicates mainly through tasteful chord voicings and the occasional nod, and has been known to apologize to his own guitar after a bum note. Ask him to take a solo and he'll politely gesture for someone else to go first, then deliver something quietly brilliant when nobody's looking. He stands so far stage-left that sound engineers have filed missing-person reports. His idea of a wild rockstar move is making eye contact with the front row for a full second. Don't mistake the bashfulness for lack of skill — Matt is the glue holding every song together, the rhythm parts you don't notice until they're gone. He turns crimson at applause and once nearly fainted when a fan asked for an autograph. Offstage he's the world's best listener, the guy who remembers everyone's birthday but would never bring it up. The band adores him, partly because he's a phenomenal player, and partly because he never, ever hogs the microphone. He would rather perish than hog the microphone.

Stephen

Drums

Stephen discovered the drums at age seven, when he realized it was the only instrument you could play angry and still get applauded. He has been hitting things rhythmically ever since, much to the relief of his family, who previously had no idea where all that energy was going. Legend says he once counted in a song so hard the click track filed a complaint. He owns more cymbals than plates, considers "too loud" a compliment, and firmly believes every song improves with one extra fill that absolutely nobody asked for. Off stage, Stephen is the band's unofficial timekeeper, snack coordinator, and the only member who reliably remembers where the van is parked. He communicates primarily in tempo and can resolve any argument by simply playing a drum roll until everyone forgets what they were mad about. If the gig runs long, blame Stephen — he never wants it to end.

Joe

Guitar/Voice

Joe P joined the band as a humble bass player, a noble calling that lasted roughly two rehearsals. The problem? He was simply too good at shredding. Every time the song called for a steady root note, his fingers would wander up the neck and unleash a face-melting solo that nobody requested and everybody secretly enjoyed. The band tried intervention, confiscation, even hiding his higher strings — but you cannot cage a man born to widdly-widdly. Eventually they gave up, handed him a six-string, and accepted their fate. Now firmly on lead guitar, Joe P treats every chorus as a personal audition for a stadium tour that exists only in his head. He believes there is no song too mellow for a tasteful 14-second solo, and he is technically correct in a way that is impossible to argue with. Off stage he's a sweetheart who'll lend you his last guitar pick; on stage he's a man possessed, eyes closed, foot on the monitor, daring the speed limit to stop him. The bass position remains tragically vacant in his wake.